


The Open Turn of Destiny!

by superblooper



Category: Free!
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, Gen, M/M, angst ridden filth!, ep 11 pregame, post ep 10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2014-09-10
Packaged: 2018-02-16 20:34:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2283675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superblooper/pseuds/superblooper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing he had said enticed Haru into talking to him, and it is far past the point where Makoto can pretend there’s nothing wrong. This can’t be fixed by empty smiles and quiet glances. It can’t even be fixed by a <i>real</i> race.</p><p>“Haru.”</p><p>When Makoto turns to face him, it takes exactly four seconds for Haru to do the same. It’s almost funny, how such a tiny moment can contain an eternity.</p><p>He took it as a sign, and inhaled through his nose. Distantly, he can hear a rocket launch into the hazy sky. The firework show has begun.</p><p>“Listen...”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Open Turn of Destiny!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Hannah [ao3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/peiot)/[tumblr](http://thyme-b.tumblr.com) for telling me I was _awful_ throughout the process. Without you, I'd still be pondering _what if_.
> 
> Alternatively titled "A Mark of My Self Indulgence, FREESTYLE."
> 
> For best reading experience, fast forward to the end of ep10 after _Future Fish_ and watch the teaser for ep11. Maybe toss in that "Maybe I was jealous of Rin" scene for kicks.

Makoto didn’t mind that the Iwatobi festival was not as extravagant as its cousins' in the neighboring metropolises. They’re far off and vague, smears of light in the background. Here and now, he wouldn’t trade the contentment curling warm and hot in his belly. The fair food was delicious, as always. Mackerel wasn’t his favorite fish, by far, and Haru’s religious devotion to it had dulled any remaining appreciation he had for it, long ago; but tonight, when Haru had offered him a cube of the fried fish, Makoto accepted it without hesitation, popping it into his mouth and humming gratefully.

Ran and Ren had commandeered a hand each, one from Makoto, one from Haru. It was adorable in appearance, but Makoto expected the twins to ply them for money to buy even more sweets.

“I love the festival. It’s always so pretty,” Ran began, swinging Makoto’s arm like a jungle vine. Makoto didn’t complain. It could’ve been a double piggyback ride.

“And it always smells wonderful,” Ren added happily.

“Like treats,” Ran supplied, nonchalant, catching Ren’s eye. Trouble was on the horizon, time for big brother to step in.

“It’s too bad we don’t have anymore money,” Ren caught on instantaneously, giving a tearful sniff. “Onii-chan, can we have some of yours?”

“The fireworks should be starting soon,” Makoto spoke up quickly, before the twins’ feedback loop combined with their adorably pitiful looks became unstoppable. “Let’s go find Mom and Dad, they’d have set up the picnic blanket by now. You can ask them for more money.” Both the twins clamored to be as close to the firework launch as possible, to ensure maximum dazzlement and the biggest booms. Since that was decidedly not Makoto’s favorite way to enjoy fireworks, Makoto and Haru would herd the twins around the booths before the show started, then drop them off with Makoto’s parents. Two years ago, Haru had found the perfect spot to watch the show, secluded enough to stifle the thunderous booms of the fireworks, but close enough to watch the lights race across the sky. Every year, they walk up the steps to watch the show from their secret place.

“Pchooo!” Ran pumped his fist in the air.

“BOOM,” Ren waved her free arm enthusiastically.

Haru made appreciative noises at their improv fireworks display, steering their path toward the beach. Makoto was too busy smiling to properly scold Ren for yanking on Haru’s arm. Haru was comfortable enough to settle him himself, anyway. Everything was okay. Better than fine. Possibly perfect.

The twins were practically dragging Makoto and Haru by the hand to their picnic spot. Makoto’s parents were already seated on the blanket, looking up at the sound of sand crunching underfoot.

“Makoto, what are you doing this close? The fireworks are starting soon,” his father teased, receiving a flying hug tackle from Ran with practiced ease. Makoto was slightly jealous of his father’s twin-wrangling prowess. Maybe someday, with his own kids, perhaps.

He laughed, holding his palms out. Preference against loud concussive noise wasn’t something he could help. “We’ll make our getaway soon enough. I have my phone in case you need to call me.”

“I’m sure your father and I can handle it,” his mother said, eyes crinkling. “You and Haru enjoy yourselves.

Haru just nodded, but felt obligated to stoop and give his mother a sideways hug. “See you later.”

People were starting to murmur excitedly around them. It was getting closer to the start of the display. Makoto and Haru said their goodbyes and began to head up the beach. The twins waved and hollered at their retreating backs, before getting in a war to decide who got to hang off their father’s neck.

“You’re not really afraid of fireworks.” Haru gave him that funny, analytical stare from beneath his bangs. It made Makoto want to laugh for its adorableness, like a sullen turtle.

“Not really. I prefer peace and quiet, but I don’t really mind the noise.” He smiled indulgently, tilting his head. “Is Haru-chan worried about me?”

“No. And stop calling me ‘chan’.”

He really couldn’t stop himself laughing this time. When Haru looked chagrined, Makoto had the good grace to hide his giddy titters behind a cough. “Alright. But, no, I’m not afraid. I’m with you, Haru!” Haru’s expression was unreadable. Makoto wasn’t as unaffected by his stoicism this time, so he continued hurriedly, “It’s nice to get away for a little while.” Sharing Haru with the twins was a happy burden, but Makoto was greedy about the moments when it simply Haru and Makoto.

Haru accepted his explanation wordlessly, and they walked side by side. Sometimes their elbows bumped, or, rather, Makoto’s elbow brushed against Haru’s upper arm. If they were ever to hold hands, Haru would have to bend his arm slightly so their hands could properly interlink.

Makoto shook himself out of his thoughts. He hadn’t even noticed the ground changing from sand to pavement. They had climbed an admirable amount of stairs and he hadn’t given it a thought, too wrapped up in his own. They’d arrived at their destination, just in time too. Even this far from the launch, they could hear the faint trill of a rocket whistling skyward.

They leaned against the railing, shoulder to shoulder, watching the fireworks burn above the water. The lights colored the ocean’s surface, and a muffled boom followed a few seconds afterwards. Like every year, it was beautiful to watch.

“You think we’ll still be here come the next few years? I can’t really imagine what I’ll be doing then. Can you Haru-chan?”

“I don’t really know.” A pause. “Swimming.”

“Oh? Like in the Olympics?” That was a big dream. But as grand as it sounded, Makoto could honestly picture it. Something about the way Haru swam promised that he was special in a way no one else could touch. Haru was simply beautiful, and it was doubly true when he took the water. It made Makoto a little wistful, to think Haru was destined to show his wonderfulness to the world. Where would Makoto be?

The fantasy popped like bubble.

“No. I only swim free.”

Makoto laughed quietly. The future was far away, enough to be a shapeless worry in the distance. “That’s so you, Haru.” Haru hummed faint ascent. It was so endearing, Makoto nudged Haru’s shoulder. He was so brimming with affection, he didn’t know what to do with all of these emotions expanding in his chest.

When their hands brushed, Haru didn’t pull away like Makoto had expected. After a sidelong glance, Haru little fingers hooked around each other. Makoto didn’t fool himself into believing he’d have the courage to fold their palms together, fingers locked, but the sight of their pinkies twined was important in ways he couldn’t articulate yet.

Years later, Makoto would recognize the importance of this moment. It had been when he believed against all odds, he and Haru might wind up together.

They watched the rest of the fireworks leaning into one another, without having to speak a word.

* * *

It’s time for the fireworks festival once again. In the past, Makoto had idly dreamed that he and Haru would return here, every year. In a sense, that was true. But instead of the intimate silence they had shared in the years before, tonight is heavy with words unsaid. It clogs his throat and to his humiliation, makes his pulse flutter nervously, in a way it simply doesn’t when he’s with Haru.

There’s still the option of saying nothing, doing nothing. Makoto has occasionally appealed to Haru for an honest conversation, always broaching the topic with a some throwaway phrase. Like are you okay, Haru? or You were amazing today! Nothing he had said enticed Haru into talking to him, and it is far past the point where Makoto can pretend there’s nothing wrong. This can’t be fixed by empty smiles and quiet glances. It can’t even be fixed by a real race.

“Haru.”

When Makoto turns to face him, it takes exactly four seconds for Haru to do the same. It’s almost funny, how such a tiny moment can contain an eternity.

He took it as a sign, and inhaled through his nose. Distantly, he can hear a rocket launch into the hazy sky. The firework show has begun.

“Listen...”

Broken lights, a burst of green and gold, make Haru look drawn and pale. His eyes, unwavering when they meet his, glitter faintly like white sunlight refracted off water, before the firework burns to nothing with a final crackle.

“I think you should swim.” It is disproportionately hard, to make the words order themselves and march from his mouth into the empty air between them. Makoto has to fight to keep Haru’s eye; naturally, he wants to divert, rub the back of his neck and huff out a brief laugh, all air and no feeling. He sounds silly, and it’s embarrassing that this simple sentence is so meaningful. But this is important, moreso than Makoto’s aversion to an irritated Haru. He’s grown into the role of Haru’s tether to the world, coaxing him out of the bath and reminding him of homework, but never trying to drag him ashore to face the future. And now he’s deliberately riling Haru, demanding an answer instead of asking for one. It’s different, and wrong.

“I do,” Haru answers briefly, indecipherable eyes flickering. Is he annoyed? Guilty? Makoto can’t tell. Maybe that’s because of the sudden flares of light and sudden dark are making Haru impossible to read, or it could be something else hindering his unspoken bond with his best friend.

“You know what I mean. Competitively, Haru-chan.” He tells himself that the childish nickname isn’t a concession or a diffusion. It’s merely an affectionate nickname that’s been following the pair of them for years. “I know a few scouts were sympathetic, and a few of them must have contacted you.”

“Don’t call me that.” Haru seizes Makoto’s moment of weakness. He really must not want to talk about it.

Makoto sets his resolve. “So you have been contacted, then?” His voice, surprisingly, doesn’t waver.

“You sound like Rin.” Haru makes it sound like an insult, reproachful.

“Yes, well-”

“He asked you too. What do you want from your future?”

Makoto pulls up short, caught. Then he smiles ruefully, and does grab the back of his neck, laughing long enough to show Haru that the future wasn’t such a scary thing. Even a big scaredy cat like him can be brave when thinking about adult things like colleges and careers. There is nothing for Haru to fear.

It also gives him space to think of an answer. I want to swim with you is a cliche by now. A year has passed since he’d been shaking on a cold beach, half drowned and dizzy with life, and uttered it’s meaningless without you! It’s mortifying to think about. Just a week ago, Because I want to swim with you was hastily covered with And all my friends. And although it isn’t any less true by virtue of sincerity, Makoto acknowledges that it isn’t a possibility anymore. For starters, Makoto’s backstroke hasn’t drawn the attention of any scouts. It is best to let that dream pass quietly, and attempt at a regroup for the future. Bringing it up again seemed uncomfortably manipulative. He had already strong armed Haru into racing him, and that was baffling enough to poor Haru. Whatever Makoto had been trying to prove, it had ended prefecturals.

“I want everyone to be happy,” Makoto answers with a faint smile. Haru snorts, just loud enough to be heard after the next muffled boom of the fireworks. Makoto hurries to continue before Haru dismisses him entirely. “And I think that means pursuing swimming, for you. In a few years, you and Rin could represent all of Japan.” Another flash of light bloomed overhead. Haru’s eyes look alien black in harsh glare of the fireworks, boring into his. “And the local university, for me.”

“I can still swim without all that.” Haru is so stubborn. And Makoto feels threadbare and ineffective against the tide of his indifference. It’s like Haru couldn’t care less, one way or another, what happens to his future.

“There’s just so much more for you out there than here.” Abruptly, Makoto realises he’s been staring hard at his feet, watching color draw out their shadows from under their feet. Faintly, he adds, “Haru-chan.” With an effort, he looks up, in time to see Haru’s dour stare deepen to an out and out scowl. “I don’t want you to regret this moment, if you could show the world a sight they’d never seen.”

“Fine.” Then Haru blinks and the glare is gone.

Although he’s said what he needed to, Makoto doesn’t feel any of the weight in his chest buoy off his heart. Haru looks so withdrawn, not meeting Makoto’s eye.

There’s a moment, that Makoto believes he’s made a mistake. Pushed too hard, said too terrible words.

Then Haru looks back at him, expression so bland and colorless it’s visible even in the dark.

“Let’s go back to your parents. I’m tired.”

“Sure, Haru.”

Even though Makoto has one hand firmly on the banister, it feels like he misses a step down the stairwell. His insides clench and squirm, but he doesn’t ask Haru to slow down. He lets Haru walk in front of him, and gradually the distance between them widens and widens, like a monster’s mouth to swallow him whole.

* * *

Adjusting to dorm life is difficult. Haru has been operating on his lonesome enough to take care of the necessities like laundry and personal hygiene. It’s running according to the university’s schedule that defeats him.

First year students at the university are required to sign for a meal plan. There aren’t any truly useful cooking utilities open for Haru to use in the communal kitchen. No longer can he whip together mackerel miso soup late into the night. He has to attempt to adjust his eating habits to fit into the allotted breakfast, lunch, and dinner times sanctioned by the cafeteria.

It shouldn’t be all that difficult, except for the fact he keeps expecting a friendly greeting and an outstretched hand to pull him out of the tub in time for dinner. Or early morning classes. Or mandatory dorm floor meetings.

By the time it becomes a running joke that ‘Miss’ Nanase Haruka can’t keep punctual for anything except swim practices, Haru acknowledges that this problem has an easy fix. Easy in theory.

He still has the same phone as he did in high school, a little ragged around the edges, but still useful. Haru slides open the phone and clicks through his contacts, highlighting Tachibana Makoto. Before he can hesitate, he presses his thumb against the ‘call’ button.

“Hello?” Haru blinks slowly, listening. “Haru? Are you there?”

The name is a weight on his tongue. “Makoto.”

“Hi Haru! Wow, it’s been a while. How’s university?” His cheerful tone doesn’t soothe Haru in the slightest. Instead, it’s one more hurt to add to his wounds, and he wants nothing more than to go home. To the house his parents no longer own in Iwatobi, up stone steps and close to his best friend.

“I… I need your help,” Haru admits, wondering why his voice is trembling.

Haru couldn’t have been more careless with his phrasing, but, surprisingly, Makoto doesn’t work himself into a maternal froth. There’s a handful of seconds before his voice whispers across the line.

“Anything, Haru.”

Haru exhales, and he’s angry that it hitches on its way out. “I need you to tell me how you set alarms on your phone,” he mutters darkly, sinking back onto his mattress. He stares at the bunk above him, listening to Makoto’s muted laugh.

“Oh… good thing we got the same kind, huh, Haru? I know how to do that. It’s really easy once you know how. Do you have a paper to write it down on?”

Haru hums vaguely, draping his free arm over his eyes. When Makoto is done telling him how exactly to set alarms on his phone, Haru ends the conversation too soon.

It occurs to him that Makoto hadn’t called him Haru-chan once during their call.

When he sits up to swing his legs over the edge of his bed, it’s even more startling to feel tears rolling down his face. Haru touches his cheek, stunned when his fingers come back glistening wet.

Maybe this is what growing up means, he thinks dazedly.

* * *

**From: Rin  
** it’s sickening how they coo at each other

 **From: Makoto**  
I’m sure you’re over exaggerating.

 **From: Rin**  
maybe  
 **From: Rin  
** it’s still gross

 **From Makoto:**  
Sousuke is his personal trainer, Rin. There’s no need to be jealous.

 **From: Rin  
** i’m not jealous  
 **From: Rin**  
see also: shut the fuck up

 **From: Makoto**  
Haha, ok.  (✿◠‿◠)  

 **From: Rin**  
…makoto, what????

 **From: Makoto**  
They’re cute!

 **From: Rin**  
you are forbidden from hanging out with nagisa at all ever  
 **From: Rin**  
he has tainted you

 **From: Makoto**  
Haha, sure. (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

 **From: Rin**  
makoto STOP

 **From: Makoto**  
But Rin you didn’t even use your manners. (▰˘◡˘▰)

 **From: Rin**  
really makoto. really?

 **From: Makoto**  
(◕︵◕)

 **From: Rin**  
for fucks sake PLEASE

 **From: Makoto**  
Ok.  
 **From: Makoto**  
Was that so hard?

 **From: Rin**  
the things i do for you shits

 **From: Makoto**  
It was very kind of you.  
 **From: Makoto  
** Anyway, I’ll talk to you later?

 **From: Rin**  
if you’re lucky  
 **From: Rin**  
i’m very busy

Texts from Rin aren’t as common as, say, photostreams from Nagisa or lengthy emails from Rei, but it was still a weekly thing. Usually, Makoto would feel the first buzz of his phone while he’s finishing up his evening run. It is such a regular occurrence that Makoto entertained himself wondering if Rin had an alarm labeled specifically _Grump to Makoto_.

Chuckling, he tucks the phone back into his sweatshirt pocket, before wiping at his brow with the corner of his sleeve. The summer heat still held Iwatobi possessively in its grip, although the ocean breeze helped circulate the stifling hot hair some. His evening runs might become nightly runs if the temperature continued to be this unbearable.

He should probably make that change sooner rather than later; Rin would probably chew Makoto’s ear off if he swooned from heat exhaustion. Already, his imagination-Rin is snarling at him to just go get a bottle of water, a sports drink, hell, even a juicebox. Makoto just hadn’t thought it’d be this _hot_.

Maybe he can stop on at the cornerstore for a drink. He always keeps money on him when he went out on these runs, in case of an emergency. Keeping his ears intact probably qualifies as an emergency; Rin’s teeth are sharp. The bell over the door jingles as he entered a tiny shop that is blessedly air conditioned. None of the electric blue sports drinks- packing protein, promising extra energy, offering electrolytes- catch his eye. Instead, he is drawn to a cooler at the end of the aisle. There’s ice cream sandwiches, ice pops, and popsicles.

During his walk home, he breaks the popsicle in half. It’s a ritual so ingrained into Makoto, that only after he’s holding a half of a popsicle in each hand does he realize that he has no one to share it with. The thought is so sudden, like someone had suddenly dunked him in ice water, making the hot day seem cold.

He can only manage to finish one half of the popsicle, in the end. The other, he tosses responsibly into a trash bin.

* * *

****“Huhn, you know, I did always peg you for a family man, Mako-chan.” Kisumi tips his head, peering around the room with faint, probably feigned interest. He is fresh faced, and it almost hurts to look at him. His starched white shirt is surreal in its brilliance. It’s an odd thing to focus on. Makoto ducks his head, trying to gather his thoughts enough to reply, because now Kisumi looks concerned as well as expectant.

“Just Makoto is fine.” Makoto smiles in reply, a bemused, small thing. He thinks of Haru’s irritated chuff, a grumpy child sulking. “I love my family,” he explains vaguely. There’s nothing better for him to say, no other excuse to offer up. He has the urge to fidget, even though Kisumi is an old friend, and he’s never felt uneasy around him. Quite the opposite. Maybe all this time apart has warped their relationship? Time often shifts things around in strange ways.

“ _Oh_ ,” Kisumi’s eyes zero in on Makoto, brimming with restrained laughter. “So because I moved for university, I don’t love my family? Poor Hayato! Saddled with an absentee brother.” He  shakes his head in mock disappointment, while Makoto fumbles audibly in his haste to correct himself.

“That’s not what I meant!” Blood rushes to his face, and it is suddenly very impossible to look Kisumi in the eye. “I’m sure you’re a wonderful long distance brother.”

Kisumi is suddenly beside him. Makoto is still too tall to comfortably serve as his temporarily armrest, but Kisumi still pats his shoulder reassuringly. “Ah, no worries. I’m glad you’re here after all, Makoto. You can watch out for him for me!” Makoto doesn’t really care to think about the implications of that ‘after all,’ and shrugs helplessly. Of course he’ll look out for Hayato. That goes without saying. For lack of something better to say, Makoto defaults to apologizing, but Kisumi plows over his faltering voice, smiling genially. “You still keep fish? I thought you and Haru buried the last of these guys years ago.” It’s a merciful topic change, and Makoto is grateful.

A happy couple of goldfish circle each other in their bowl. Makoto’s smile is a little more real. “I’m a legal adult now, Kisumi. I think I can finally handle the responsibility of the care and feeding of fish,” he says seriously.

“Finally,” Kisumi agrees solemnly, smiling with a closed mouth and eyes crinkling. He valiantly tries to match his expression to his tone, but fails. “One day, you might be able to own a dog.”

“I’m more of a cat person,” Makoto replies, almost sheepish even to his own ears. Which is ridiculous because cats are wonderful creatures, he can attest with unshakeable conviction.

The two of them fall into an easy debate about the merits of dogs vs cats as Makoto leads them into the kitchen. They’re discussing dog drinking from sprinklers and cats pouncing on laser pointers when Makoto sets down two steaming mugs hot chocolate between them.

“You may think you are a cat person, but you have all the good attributes of a dog,” Kisumi informs Makoto with a knowing expression. Makoto startles. Since last he checked, he isn’t in possession of floppy ears or a tail, which are all good attributes of dogs.

He scratches his cheek, raising his shoulders in surrender. “Uh, I’m not sure... are you trying to insult me or compliment me?”

“Compliment you, of course.” Kisumi usually saves _that_ particular look of most wounded pride for Haru. Makoto doesn’t think Kisumi will take too kindly to being laughed at, so he tamps down on the startled chuff threatening to escape him. Still wearing his ridiculous pout, Kisumi continues, “Dogs are smart and loyal and handsome.”

He doesn’t know what to think. People didn’t say things like that, but Kisumi is the same kind of blunt that Haru was, at times. Makoto swallows painfully and flounders while his ears burn. “D-do you really think so?”

“Duh, why do you think I slipped in that Mako-chan? I think it’s pretty cute, how you’re living with your family still.” Kisumi informs him, shrugging. Makoto is very glad he isn’t drinking; it was a perfect setup for a spit take. Another dash of improbable tv hilarity to top off an already unexpected encounter. Kisumi chuckles, fluting and warm. Makoto’s attention returns back to him, and although he’s embarrassed, so very embarrassed, it doesn’t feel like Kisumi is making fun of him. It feels wistful but familiar. “I just always figured a big fish like you was bound for bigger and better things.” That stung, but Makoto knows from experience that Kisumi often speaks without thinking. He watches Kisumi bite his lip, lost in a distant memory. It’s one Makoto remembers too. “I had hoped that bigger and better thing would’ve been basketball, but you turned me down immediately.” Again, there was that laconic shrug. “But it’s the past. And nothing but a bright future ahead of the two of us.”

"I like living with my family. I'm happy here," Makoto assures him, with infinite patience.

Kisumi nods, humming low and sympathetic.

* * *

It is inevitable that Haru would have to bear the burden of Yamazaki’s presence, even after leaving Iwatobi’s rivalry with Samezuka behind him. The circle of Japan’s elite swimmers stretches to include their various loved ones and personal staff. Despite Yamazaki Sousuke’s distasteful temperament, he knows the ins and out of training regimes and has years of personal experience actually swimming. He’s a valuable asset and, from rumor, is a sought after trainer.

Haru never really puts much stock in gossip.

“Rin says you don’t respond to his texts. Or emails.”

“That’s hardly your business.” Haru doesn’t bother to slow pace. Yamazaki can keep stride with him. He certainly is tall enough. Haru regretfully thinks about how this training facility isn’t quite labyrinthine enough to lose his unwanted tail.

His footsteps are echoed a half step behind him. “Aiichiro tells me that Hazuki hasn’t been getting enough love from his precious Nanase as well.” Haru crushes a flicker of irritation, a bug beneath his heel.

He refuses to answer on principle. Begrudgingly, he can respect Yamazuki for his flat as stillwater deadpan. But it still drips of condescension, and it’s making Haru itch to abscond, and that means Yamazuki is winning. The fact that Haru cares about winning at all irks him an inexplicable amount.

Only swimmers and their personal trainers are allowed in the locker room, which is a further shame. Everyone else is barred from here. Which means is allowed to Yamazaki trail after him all to Haru’s locker, leaning against the wall like an oppressive stormcloud.

“It’s good odds that you haven’t given Tachibana the time of day either.”

The world narrows abruptly to just Haru and Yamazuki, like a pupil contracting under strong light. Haru’s senses sharpen from the adrenaline flooding his system. All he can focus on is how loathsome Yamazuki is, torn between fight and flight response.

“You once told me to just swim,” Haru snaps. He’s too flustered to remember the exact words Yamazuki had spat at him, it was like remembering a dream. “Now-”

Haru highly doubts Yamazuki ever planned on listening to his rebuttal if it had even made sense. The taller man bears down on him without giving him time to finish, voice whipsawing out to strike Haru right in the heart.

“You used to swim with a _purpose._ And you claimed it was your friends. What do you swim for now, Nanase?”

That harsh panting… it’s coming from his own mouth. Haru blinks, unsure if this white-knuckled hand clenching his locker is attached to his arm. It doesn’t seem real. The fact that it’s Yamazuki confronting him helps him believe that this whole encounter is ridiculous. He forces his hand to relax, closing his locker without retrieving his towel. He inhales slowly, through his nose, then lets it go.

Yamazuki doesn’t get an answer.  

He swims to be free.

As he stalks from the locker room, without his towel, without his goggles, Yamazuki can’t resist firing off a parting shot. “Don’t overwork yourself, Nanase. If you’ve sacrificed this much to be considered, it would be a shame to lose it now.”

Later, when he’s successfully lost his foreboding shadow and stowing the towel he had to retrieve back in its locker, he tugs a little too viciously at his bag. He doesn’t often bring his cellphone with him to, well, anywhere really. So he usually doesn’t know the thing is. It’s a complete surprise when his phone comes tumbling out of his locker.

It hits the ground with an ominous crack of plastic.

Haru stares at the little rectangle of blue on the tiles, before carefully picking it up from the ground. There’s splinters spiderwebbing across the front. The way he runs his thumb along the shattered face is almost tender. When he slides open the keyboard, the screen still lights up, and feels oddly wobbly on his feet with regret.

The little inbox icon shows he has seven unopened messages waiting for him. Fair bet that half are from Nagisa, but he doesn’t want to know. He slides the phone closed, catching the edge of plastic and splicing open the pad of his thumb.

He’ll probably need a new phone. There’s a slender chance that the store will still carry this particular model, but Haru won’t bring himself to ask. Instead, he buys a new phone, the weight foreign and wrong in his pocket. He remembers to bandage his finger when he gets home, although he had to do some searching to find a bandage that wasn’t green. For the rest of the evening, instead of calling Makoto- or anyone- for directions, he picks through online instructions that guide him through setting alarms on his cellphone. Haru used to the quiet, but today it feels like a stranger.

* * *

 

“And to say thank you for letting us stay in your apartment….” Nagisa leans forward, hands tucked behind his back. The way Rei is pinching his nose beneath his glasses, Makoto feels a sudden swing of trepidation at whatever Nagisa will pass off as gratitude. He tries to marshal himself, prepare for a sudden scare, as Nagisa so loves to do, even now. “Tadah! Iwatobi Cream Bread!” A loaf of sweet bread very nearly collides with Makoto’s nose.

“I told him you wouldn’t like it,” Rei says apologetically. His cheeks are tinged pink, and Makoto immediately takes pity on him. His reassurances aren’t needed, however. Two seconds later, Rei puffs his chest and turns indignantly on his boyfriend. “Makoto-senpai has no need for such high amounts of sugar loaded carbohydrates!” Rei crosses his arms and turns up his nose, adding lowly, “I should contact Kou-san."

Nagisa stops tantalizing waving the bread to and fro to stare at Rei with terrified eyes. Makoto has become all too familiar with the habits of his guests. They will quarrel, world shrinking until it’s just the two of them, and Makoto can start serving lunch in the meantime. The kitchen and the living room share an open floor plan, so he can still watch Rei and Nagisa while he heats up the leftover soup from last night on the stove.

The first time he tried to make mackerel miso soup, he had accidentally added salt instead of sugar. The lesson stuck with him to this day, and Makoto is now the happy expert. On days when his classes run late, it’s an easy meal to make.

“That’s mean, Rei-chan,” Nagisa says reproachfully, brandishing an accusing loaf of bread like a sword. “I should get some leeway because of our relationship.” Makoto’s face burns as Nagisa’s tone goes downright salacious. Even exposure over the past few days hasn’t brought him any immunity. The intimacy of Nagisa and Rei’s relationship scorches him inside out every time. Especially when Nagisa casually brings up this stuff. “I’m sure there’s something I can do to persuade you to reconsider.” At this point, Makoto spins away, opening and shutting cabinets, like he doesn’t know exactly where the bowls are.

“I don’t think so, Nagisa-kun,” Rei rebukes. Makoto doesn’t know if it’s better or worse that Rei isn’t flushing at the implications. The latter implies that this is a regular occurrence. Nagisa using _bribes_ to sway Rei’s favor. Makoto shies away from following that particular train of thought. He’s seen the both of them in nothing but their swim gear, years ago, and it should have desensitized him, but instead, Makoto squirms uncomfortably alone in the kitchen.

“Ah but Rei-chan, you haven’t even given me a chance!” Makoto turns slightly, catches jewel bright eyes and Nagisa’s bottom lip pushed into a ridiculous, exaggerated moue. Nagisa’s eyes are stark opposite of blue and he craves thin lips that curve only slightly when they smile as opposed to Nagisa’s full pout, and he _still_ shivers. He’s hot with humiliation a second later, and slams the bowls onto the counter.

“And empirical evidence indicates that it always leads to inappropriate and compromising situations when I do!”

That’s enough.

“Nagisa, you can put the bread on the table. Lunch should be ready.” He doesn’t know how he’s going to eat, his appetite has evaporated, leaving a faintly queasy feeling behind.

Nagisa and Rei come along quieter than Makoto expected. Rei tries to be subtle about it, but the two of them are stealing glances at him. Rei, worried. Nagisa, curious. Makoto busies himself with ladeling the soup into bowls, listening to them settle into their chairs.

The seats around the dining table serve as Makoto’s couch when he wants to watch TV in the living room. It’s admittedly cramped. Times like these when Makoto really does feel oversized and out of place. Even in his own home. Somedays, it’s _especially_ in his own home.

The three of them make idle chatter while they spoon through their soup. Nagisa and Rei have officially finished moving into together as of last week, and they have plenty of entertaining stories to regale Makoto with. Like when they set out to paint their living room, each starting at an opposite end of the room and didn’t realize they were using two different colors until there wasn’t enough paint to redo it.

“And now our sitting room is half _Hurricane Lamp Glow_ and half _High Society Violet!_ ” Nagisa concludes proudly, looking expectantly at Makoto.

Rei is pinching the bridge of his nose again. “It’s not beautiful at all.”

“Now, now, Rei-chan, we agreed that we’d call it _unique_!”

“You decided, you mean.”

Makoto laughs on cue, ignoring the uneasy twinge in his gut. He hadn’t eaten more than a few mouthfuls of broth. Nagisa had eyed him a few times, but declined when Makoto had offered the rest of his bowl.

Rei makes a faint noise of disapproval, but Makoto doesn’t miss- can’t miss how their hands are resting together the table. Rei’s larger hand is loosely covering Nagisa’s, forcing Nagisa to gesture emphatically with only one hand. Nagisa doesn’t even seem to realize.

“So, Makoto-senpai-” Makoto sighs slightly. Rei plows doggedly on; he still calls Makoto and Rin ‘senpai,’ despite their combined assurances it was no longer necessary. (He probably still calls Haruka ‘senpai’ too.) “we were wondering- _ouch!”_

Nagisa smiles guilelessly, and Makoto’s experience and natural paternal instinct have been honed over the years. Admittedly, they might’ve dulled without Nagisa constantly stirring up trouble in the immediate vicinity, but this visit has fine-tuned his senses once again.

“What were you going to say, Rei?” Makoto asks patiently, pointedly ignoring Nagisa’s toothy grin.

Nagisa refuses to take that lying down. “He was going to ask you whether there was a girl in the picture yet!”

 _“Nagisa!”_ Rei’s jaw works for a second, his hand reflexively tightening around Nagisa’s. Makoto raises his hands placatingly, but Rei is too busy mouthing at Nagisa to notice. It seems like he’s having trouble deciding which offense to address first. Nagisa simply smiles beatifically in the face of an oncoming storm. “That wasn’t what I was going to ask! That’s an incredibly personal question that I wouldn’t suddenly spring on Makoto-senpai without proper warning. And furthermore-”

“There isn’t,” Makoto answers gently. It’s a little bit gratifying that both of them fall silent instead of talking over him. “I tried a few times, but I don’t think dating is for me.” Nagisa’s brows come together. It’s alarming to see his normally sweet face that fierce. It usually spells trouble. Rei, on the other hand, looks faintly heartbroken.

They both start talking at once.

“But Makoto-senpai, you have such admirable stats-” Rei protests.

“Nah, nah, Mako-chan, if you think dating isn’t for you-” Nagisa begins earnestly.

“-kind and excellent with children. And you’ve learned to cook since-”

“-the right person! It doesn’t even have to be a girl! Look at me and Rei-chan-”

“-love animals, which is indicative of compassion. Anyone would be lucky to-”

It’s overwhelming. Both of them are very fast and very loud chatterboxes, once they build enough steam. The din is loud enough to disorientate Makoto, and he doesn’t want to accidentally upset his neighbors. The walls are unsurprisingly thin in his apartment complex.

“What was your original question, Rei?” Makoto cuts in. When they quiet this time, Nagisa looks imploringly at Rei, fingers curling against Rei’s. “I really don’t mind.” While Rei visibly steels himself, Nagisa flashes him a defeated look, mouth turned down.

“We wanted to know if you had talked to Haruka-senpai recently,” Rei says.

Nagisa huffs a resigned sigh, shoulders slumping.

Makoto tries to recall the last time he talked to his best friend. Surely it hadn’t been when Haru called him about setting alarms on his phone. That was an age ago. Yet for some reason, it stands out clearly in his mind. There were texts and meager emails traded in between, but Makoto’s brain is fixated on that particular moment.

_He had fumbled his phone, hardly daring to believe it. But it was Haru’s name lit up on his phone’s screen, an incoming call. Haru never called when he could type out a text. It must be an emergency._

_It hadn’t been an emergency. Nothing dramatic was said. Nothing clandestine happened. Neither one of them cried. Makoto had walked Haru through the steps of scheduling alarms, and Haru had made nonsense noises to acknowledge he was listening on the other end. It had been distressingly mundane._ __

_Apart from the fact that Makoto imagined he could feel his heart break apart into jagged little shards. He felt like he could feel them burrowing into his insides, hollowing him out, until he was numb, nothing. He hadn’t been sure why he so inexplicably saddened by Haru’s phonecall. It meant Haru was adjusting to life at a big university._

__ _It meant Makoto was very simply replaced by pressing a few buttons on a phone._

“No, sorry,” Makoto answers, ducking his head. It’s hard to swallow, his mouth feels parched and sticky. Maybe another spoonful of broth will help. He slurps into the tense silence, and the liquid doesn’t settle easily in his stomach. Wetting his lips with his tongue, he glances up at his friends. His voice didn’t waver, even though Makoto is weirdly sure it was going to. “Have you two?”

“No,” Nagisa says sadly, casting his eyes down at his empty soup bowl.

“I expect Haruka-senpai is on a very strict schedule,” Rei’s free hand tightens into a fist, resting on the edge of the table. “I expect once winter hits, he’ll have more time to upkeep his social life.”

Makoto has been through this conversation, chasing circles through his own head, wondering _why._ He chooses not to reply.

It doesn’t matter. Nagisa speaks for him. “But then he would’ve called us last winter. Or the winter before that.” Makoto watches Nagisa straighten slightly, and try to loosen the stranglehold of this conversation’s black mood. “I was a disappointed by Haru-chan’s Christmas message. _Happy Holidays_. Not even an exclamation point! Have I taught him _nothing?”_

“ _Happy Holidays_ is a time honored phrase used internationally. You can hardly fault Haruka-senpai for being _traditional.”_

Nagisa’s eyes flash hotly, like strobes or a firecracker. Makoto isn’t sure what expression he’s wearing himself, but when Rei looks to him for help, he is quick to look away again.

“You cannot be seriously satisfied with a _two word_ message after months of _nothing,”_ Nagisa accused. Rei opens his mouth, but before he can defend himself or Haruka, Nagisa rips his hand away from his. Rei’s mouth clicks shut, blinking owlishly behind his glasses. “It wasn’t even a cute e-card, Rei-chan! It was a plain email, mass sent to everyone!” Nagisa’s hands chop through the air, upsetting his bowl with a clatter, too furious for Makoto’s cramped kitchen to contain. “It might’ve been _better_ to get nothing at all!”

Rei looks abashed, but unmoved. Makoto can tell by the stubborn set of his jaw. He couldn’t deal with an actual quarrel right now. Their bickering is tolerable, but the tense lines of Nagisa spoke volumes about how serious this fight is. Makoto can understand Rei’s insistence that Haruka just needed time to adjust and reconnect with his friends, but, unlike Rei, Makoto has moved beyond hoping for a miracle. He silently agrees with Nagisa on this point. Nothing would be better than the sickening stab of hope that lanced through his heart whenever Haruka’s name appeared in his inbox, only to read impersonal tidings. It had felt more like a backhand than a season’s greeting.

“Nagisa…” Makoto feels exhaustion roll over him like a ocean wave. If only. The sea, as vast as the sky, is probably blissfully silent at the bottom, scary as it is.

After a long moment, Nagisa’s eyes peel away from Rei’s face. His large eyes blink. He’s probably honestly surprised to find himself standing, chair pushed backward against the far wall from the force of his upstart. Nagisa looks guiltily at Makoto, then his eyes dart around the room. Makoto wants desperately to go to bed. Nagisa and Rei’s train can’t come quick enough.

“Oh…” Nagisa’s voice goes tiny and precious, and on pure reflex, Makoto snaps to attention, wary for trouble. Nagisa’s wide eyes are fixated on low bookcase by the door. There’s nothing truly remarkable about it. On the shelves, rows of dog eared books and a few knickknacks from his parents. Makoto sheds his keys and his wallet atop it whenever he comes home. Next to his keys, his goldfish, surprisingly long lived, twine together in the bowl.

Except, one floats listlessly. Makoto stiffens. The soup in his belly sloshes uncomfortably at the sight. He can’t seem to make his body move. He’s not even sure why he would want to move, to scoop his dead fish away from its baffled partner? Perhaps, to stumble weak-kneed to the bathroom.

“Mako-chan…”

“It’s fine.” Surely, that isn’t his voice, so quiet and, even, cheerful. “Goldfish are finicky pets.”

Rei’s looking bewildered, peering through his glasses like he can’t quite believe what he’s heard. Makoto can’t either, if he’s honest. “You’ve had those two since before your graduation. Haruka-senpai won them for you.” Rei’s hand twitches on the tablecloth. Makoto doesn’t particularly want to be touched today, or tomorrow, so he’s glad that Rei’s hand stays where it is.

“He was always better at those carnival games than I was,” Makoto admits, amazed that he sounds so fond. He can’t tear his eyes from the fishbowl. The remaining goldfish keeps darting toward its partner, then angling away at the last second, like it’s trying to bait its friend into swimming again. It’s unbearably sad. The broth from lunch roils in his stomach like an angry sea. But the sensation comes from far away, muted by an inexplicable haze.

“Mako-chan.” Nagisa’s tone is a little more insistent this time. He feels a tug on his sleeve.

Makoto doesn’t look up. “I’ll take care of it, Nagisa. After I get the two of you to the station.” Finally, he forces his gaze off his lonely goldfish and meets Nagisa’s with a faint smile. “It’d be terrible manners to make you miss your train."

“Yes, but-”

“We really don’t mind-”

Makoto stands, rising above both of them. Nagisa clutches at his sleeve but Makoto deftly avoids him. Nagisa’s concept of personal boundaries were always blurry at best, but Makoto hasn’t really minded until now. “Thank you for the bread. It’s just like the old days.”

Both of them hug him goodbye and thank him for being a wonderful host. Makoto demurs, because it really wasn’t that much trouble. He’s thankful he could share his home with them, if only for a few days. Nagisa waves at him like a madman from their window seats.

Nagisa also deliberately left an empty seat between him and Rei. From Rei’s expression, he’s noticed too.

It’s too late for Makoto to try and fix things. The train rolls forward, painfully slow before picking up speed. He lifts a hand in farewell. Nagisa looks like he’s crying, but the train’s moving too fast for Makoto to be sure.

For a peaceful moment, Makoto stands on the platform, hand buried in his jacket pockets. It’s quiet, except for the faint murmur of passengers milling around the benches. Makoto doesn’t want to return to his too small apartment and his single goldfish. He’ll have to find a hand shovel to bury it.

When he drops his keys on the bookcase, his eyes are magnetically drawn to the fishbowl. Both his goldfish are bobbing at the surface of the water, blank eyes staring into nothing. His stomach twists violently at the sight, terrible grief lancing through him like a dull knife. He’ll have to dig two graves now.

But first, he lurches into the bathroom, and vomits. It’s mostly soup and bile, but the sour taste and embarrassment linger until he finally, gradually, exhausted to the very core, manages sleep.

* * *

In the ultimate scheme of things, Haru would prefer another run-in with Yamazuki to this. Some dark corner of his brain suggests that he would rather take a trip back to Iwatobi than endure this, but, no, he’d face Rin sooner than he’d set foot back in his hometown.

Seeing Rin isn’t empowering or exciting. Not anymore. There were times, buried beneath the recent years, that Haru would let the thrill of competition consume him. The rush of pitting himself against Rin ignited a dizzying swoop of adrenalin that he hasn’t been able to duplicate, no matter how many challengers he’s raced.

Now it’s simply disappointing.

“Come, Nanase. I’m going to beat you this time.”

Haru has crossed paths with him enough to recognize the pattern, and the cool distance behind the scripted dialogue. It’s a familiar routine, but instead being familiar, it’s exhausting. Haru doesn’t believe he’s the only one thinking that, either.

“Alright,” Haru replies placidly. Rin shoots him a dubious look, stretching the band of his goggles behind his head. They snap behind his head, and Rin crouches on the starting block.

“Well? Are you going to stand there or are you going to race me?”

Haru blinks. He had meant to follow Rin’s lead, but apparently he hasn’t.

Rin turns, still poised on the block. His lips look chapped, brushing against his shoulder as he peers concernedly at Haru. “Hey, wake up, Snow White. We’ve got a ball to catch.”

That startles Haru into motion, although, he looks faintly disapproving. “That’s Cinderella. Snow White doesn’t go to a ball.” Moving is sluggish, like fighting through the tar of his nightmares, where everyone he’s loved slips beneath quicksand. It’s terrifying to feel this way when he’s awake; it feels alarming like his defeat at regionals, when he was too disoriented to embrace the water and it sank its icy fangs soul deep into him. He hadn’t felt like Nanase Haruka that day. He’d felt like a stranger had invaded his body, and he was powerless but to watch as his body slowed and stopped.

Rin’s still looking torn between scoffing at him and mothering him, so Haru makes himself mount the starting block. Rin is satisfied with the pitiable attempt at normalcy. Enough to scoff, at least. “I’m sure Snow White went to balls. Her wedding probably _included_ a ball.”

“Those stories are different from Disney movies,” Haru replies tersely. Snow White’s wedding included her evil stepmother’s death, unusually enough. Rin probably wouldn’t want to go to that sort of ball.

“Tch. Whatever, Haru. Ready?”

“Mm.”

Haru wins.

It’s not because Rin is out of shape or a lesser swimmer. If Rin’s heart was ever in their races anymore, Haru’s certain he’d lose, at least on occasion. Maybe about half, if he was generous.

Rin hoists himself out, first though, tugging his goggles off his face. They dangle around his neck as he looms over Haru, hand on his knee. The other hand is extended toward Haru. “Good race. I’ll get you next time.” Rin’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes, so Haru discards it as one of the quaint lies they often tell each other.

Haru sighs faintly and climbs out of the pool, knocking aside Rin’s open palm. Rin makes a tiny noise that sounds like it came from child and that Haru dismisses. He doesn’t need to be babied, and he has known how to pull himself out of a pool for the majority of his life. “Sure,” he responds shortly.

Rin pulls back his hand, fingers curling against his sternum. “Hey, what’s your deal, Haru?” He only sounds angry. Haru can differentiate between Rin’s actual rage and when Rin’s hurt is pretending to be wrath.

He sighs again, trying for neutrality, softening his tone. “Nothing. Tired.”

“Mmn. Qualifying rounds are around the corner. Even I’ve been adding to my training regime.”  Rin rakes his fingers through his hair, combing wet strands out of his face. Haru averts gaze. If things had been different, Haru would’ve been able to quirk a faint smile and say _“Oh. I hadn’t noticed,”_ which would’ve inevitably devolved into a shoving match and another race, just for the sake of racing.

Now it just seems pointless. Rin has been working hard for his dream, and it shows. It shows on both of them. It’s just a fact, though. It doesn’t strike Haru with a sense of camaraderie or swell of pride. He shrugs again. It felt like his sole way of emoting somedays.

“Yeah.”

“Haru-”

_“Matsouka!”_

Whatever Rin had been about to say is effectively lost when a familiar voice booms and ricochets around the tiled room. Rin shoots a startled look around, more baffled than scared.

“Mikoshiba?” Rin asks incredulously, at the same time Haru says, “Kou-san.”

_“Kou?”_

“Hi, Onii-chan,” Kou replies. She’s not doing anything as detrimental to Rin’s blood pressure as linking arms with Mikoshiba, but the pair stand close enough to read as more than friends. “Haru-san. We were heard you two were in here, so we decided to stop by!”

“So, are you ready for preliminaries, Matsouka?” Mikoshiba genially smacks Rin on the back, grinning hugely and knocking Rin a few steps sideways. “Together, you and I can dominate the backstroke and freestyle division for Japan! I’m excited to see how far we’ve both come since leading the Samezuka team.”

Rin recovers from whatever kind of surprise his ex-Captain’s appearance might’ve had, smiles easily. Haru watches his eyes soften at the memory, before Kou taps his arm. His biceps brachii, in particular. Her eyes, in contrast, have gone fever bright.

“You’ve been working your upper body, Haru-san!” she exclaims approvingly. Her hand lingers a little too long, but Haru allows it. “It’ll definitely help with boosting your speed during the last leg of your race.”

Haru makes a noncommittal noise.

“I’m glad you’re doing _so_ well.” Her pointed tone leave Haru wondering. Kou’s tone changes to something more playful. “After the effort poured into the Iwatobi Swim Club, I’m glad you’ve maintained your physique. Have you seen Nagisa? All that damn sweet bread. I knew he was a hopeless case.” She sighs.

Mikoshiba seems pretty engaged in Rin, although Rin keeps sneaking glances at Haru. Their conversation is lively enough to disinterest Haru entirely. But Kou picks up on Rin’s silent plea the same time Haru does, possibly faster. She’s quick to act.

“Seijuurou-san, we can’t be late again,” she chimes in, smoothly breaking into their exchange. She looks meaningfully up at Mikoshiba, then back to Haru and Rin. “Besides, we just wanted to wish you two good luck before the big day!”

Rin looks grateful for the reprieve.

“Oh! Right,” Mikoshiba agrees readily, nodding immediately.

Rin now looks less grateful. “...Late for what?”

“An appointment,” Kou replies tartly. “Good luck Onii-chan! Haru-san!”

“Gou-”

“It’s _Kou!”_ She begins dragging Mikoshiba, who’s waving furiously, away in earnest, which Haru dimly notes is impressive considering their extreme difference in size. Mikoshiba must be all too willing to follow her. Haru wonders idly how Mikoshiba Momotarou is handling it.

“Fight on, Matsouka! Nanase! See you at the preliminaries!”

Rin looks faintly mutinous. “What do you think she means, an _‘appointment’?”_ he demands abruptly, radiating outrage.

Haru shrugs. “Maybe with a trainer.”

“Then why would she have to go with him?”

“If you’re that curious, ask her, not me.”

They resettle back into thoughtful silence. Rin’s agitation starts fading after he steals another handful of not subtle looks at Haru. Haru picks up a towel from one of the supply carts and deftly flicks it over his head like a hood. When he catches Rin’s eye again, Rin’s expression has gone loose. It’s weird, so Haru doesn’t pay attention to it.

Rin retrieves his own towel. They stand together in silence. Close enough to talk easily, but much further apart than Mikoshiba and Gou.

Rin keeps rubbing his forefinger along the edge of his goggles. A flash of irritation cuts through Haru’s mind, _stop fiddling with it_! Rin watches his face too keenly and Haru glances vaguely skyward.

“Haru…”

Haru waits. Everyone seems supremely intent on talking with him, despite his reluctance. Rin, of course, was just like everyone else.

Something must’ve shown on his face, an ugly show of emotion, because Rin doesn’t finish his dangling sentence. Haru continues studying the large window filtering in watery light. The trees outside sway gently, dappling the tiled floors with patchy sunspots.

He hears Rin take a steadying breath. “Haru,” Rin begins, with more confidence. “I want you to know,” Haru slowly turns his attention back to Rin, pool water still dripping from his fingertips. “Everything we’ve-” Rin’s eyes widen, and Haru blinks unhelpfully. Rin grabs his own shoulder, under the pretence rubbing out the muscle. “Everything _I’ve_ gone through,” Rin clarifies. “And now we’re here. The both of us.” He releases a ragged exhale. “I just want to thank you. I don’t think I would have made it this far. I would’ve given up and regretted it, if it weren’t for you, Haru.”

Rin smiles halfway, a little upturn at the corner of his mouth. His eyes are huge and shining with tears.

“So, thanks.”

Rin’s hugs always manage to take him by surprise, and Haru never manages to adjust. But it never matters to Rin, who clings tight and buries his face in Haru’s shoulder with all the reckless abandon of a much younger Rin. It doesn’t make Haru feel himself, but, slowly, he melts into the embrace, turning his face to hide against Rin’s neck. It’s enough to make Rin drop any guise of restraint, and soon after Haru hears Rin’s shuddering breath, he can feel hot tears sliding down his shoulder. He huffs quietly into the crook of Rin’s neck and shoulder, achingly fond. A sobering thought occurs to him, and he squeezes his eyes shut as if the blackness behind his eyelids will blot it out.

It’s not the first time Rin’s cried over him.

 **I** t wouldn’t be the last.

And that’s why Haru doesn’t particularly enjoy his encounters with Rin anymore.

* * *

 Haru can’t get enough air into his lungs. The world’s interspersed with burnt blackened holes, pulsing at the edges of his vision. All he can do is lean against the edge of the pool, ribcage swelling to burst beneath his skin, trying to pull oxygen into his starving body. He tries to even the pace of his inhales and slow his exhales, but he can’t. His blood is singing with adrenalin, but they need air.

If he wants to qualify for the Olympics, his time can’t exceed a minute. If he wants to cling to the shadowy goal of earning a medal, he’ll have to beat fifty seconds.

He pants, curled against the wall of the pool. He put forth his dedication and determination, poured all his self into this race. When he raises himself out of the water, he’d learn whether it had been enough to qualify him. If it had been worth it.

No one ushers him out of the pool. Haru waits, breathing hard, until he can gather himself enough to lever himself up, muscles protesting the whole way. He crawls out, water dribbling down his skin, and gingerly stands. He can barely hear the drone of conversations over the rapid hammer of his heart echoing in his ears.

There’s a man with a clipboard standing with a cluster of people all with **STAFF** armbands strapped over their shirts sleeves. He approaches Haru, with a towel slung over his shoulder. When he’s close enough, he offers it to Haru, who accepts it wordlessly. Instead of drying himself off, Haru flips the towel over his head, peering dully at the man from beneath his makeshift hood, still breathing hard.

“Excellent run, Nanase,” the man grips his shoulder briefly. “I know you gave it your all, and the foundation couldn’t be prouder of your efforts.”

Haru’s gaze skates sideways, shoulders tensing. His heart stills. “Oh. Then I didn’t make it.”

“On the contrary, young man! Your time is an impressive forty-nine point three seconds! With all the consistent improvement you’ve made these past two years, it’s no wonder you’ve performed so admirably in today’s race. It’s my great honor to ask you to represent Japan in the upcoming Summer Olympics.”

Haru stares, eyes widening, unable to piece together anything remotely coherent to say.

“Who would’ve thought our country’s topmost swimmers would come from Iwatobi, of all places. Hah!” The man- his nametag reads ‘Shimazaki’- glances at his clipboard. “Of course there will be a more formal ceremony, as well as some legalese to parse, but, well! That’s for your handler to deal with. Congratulations, Nanese.”

“Thank you.”

It takes a few seconds to register that that is his voice speaking, breathless.

Shimazaki leans forward slightly, brows raised. “I’ll leave you to contact anyone you’d like to notify. You’ve done exceedingly well. Make sure to see the trainer after you cool down, but you’re dismissed for today. Rest up. Or, knowing your generation, go out and celebrate!”

Haru nods mechanically, unable to process. He has no one he particularly cares to call, so he ends up tossing aside the towel and swimming a few lazy laps in the name of cooling down. As he twists beneath the water, his mind was too busy to make sense of, and by the time an attendant shoos him from the pool, Haru still isn’t quite sure what to do with himself.

The answer grabs him when Haru’s shut his locker, showered and bundled in his sweats and jacket.

Physically _grabs_ him.

Rin clutches onto him, pulling him into a fierce hug, that shudders as an avalanche. From the way he gasps raggedly into Haru’s shoulder, he’s biting back tears. Haru freezes, unable to discern whether Rin is crying from sorrow or joy. With Rin, it’s always hard to tell, on account of how often he tears up. Haru doesn’t understand what sets him off, half the time. But today, only success or failure could hit Rin this hard. Haru can feel the force of Rin’s sobs vibrating in his bones.

He figures it doesn’t matter why Rin’s crying, and cautiously raises a hand to pat him awkwardly on what he can reach of his back. Pat, pat.

 _“Haru…”_ Rin’s voice is fragile. “We did it.”

Haru doesn’t bother to correct him. This has always been Rin’s dream. Haru can be distantly happy for him, but even as he and Rin stand on equal ground, Haru doesn’t feel the soul-scraping euphoria that radiates from Rin. Instead, Haru feels weirdly hollow, as if all the work he’s put in has amounted to nothing but an empty title.

That’s what the Olympics were, another race.

Rin leans back, gripping Haru’s shoulders too tight. He sniffs, grinning with unadulterated affection. “So, you call your parents yet?” He asks casually, as if tears weren’t beading down his face.

That- isn’t what Haru had expected. He replies without thinking. “No.”

“Well get going, then, stupid,” Rin chides him, still too radiant for Haru to look at. He stares at the ground instead, a little chagrined. Rin punches his arm, finally withdrawing enough to let Haru breathe normally. “Gou wouldn’t shut up about it. Guess it was a big deal. Going to the Olympics. Swimming for _all of Japan_.” He grimaces. “Actually, I take that back. _Mikoshiba_ wouldn’t shut up about it.”

Haru sighs wanly at the reappearance of Rin’s smug smirk. But he nods. Calling his parents seemed a logical thing to do, and, besides, Haru had no ideas himself.

As he hunts through his bag for his phone, Haru pretends he doesn’t see Rin swiping at his eyes.

Rin claps him on the shoulder again. “We’ll be seeing each other a lot more often again, eh? With all the Olympians training together.” Rin cocks a brow at him, aiming for playful and looking silly instead.

“I guess.”

Rin’s smile breaks apart into a disbelieving frown. “Hey, we’ve just qualified for the Olympics, Haru.” It’s a conversation they’ve had many times before, dressed differently for each occasion. “Would it kill you to show some other emotion aside from star studded asshattery?”

“Maybe I’m smiling on the inside,” Haru offers.

“Just… go call your parents, Haru,” Rin says, resigned. He palms out his cellphone, casting Haru a look made of one part fondness and three parts irritation. “Jesus,” he mutters, tossing a casual one fingered salute over his shoulder as he strides from the room.

“Ok,” Haru says to the empty locker room.

His trainer declares he’s in fit condition, and recommends he takes an icebath once he gets back to the hotel. Haru mutely agrees and makes for the parking lot. Even after all these years, he hadn’t bothered to obtain his license. During his career, Haru has had minimal backlash from his status as a professional athlete. He suspects he’ll have to hire a driver or learn once his status as an Olympian becomes public knowledge. The thought is exhausting.

There’s usually a cab or two loitering outside the training facility. Haru can catch one back to the hotel and submerge himself for a couple hours in the luxurious bath. The perfect way to unwind after such turbulent day.

“Haru-chan!”

Haru jolted, rearing backward at the sight of a person-sized comet hurtling toward him.

Tears glinted out of the corners of Nagisa’s eyes as he full out sprinted across the courtyard. “You were so wonderful, Haru-chan. _Haru-chan!_ ” he shouts desperately, burrowing into Haru’s side, circling his waist and squeezing hard. After months of people tiptoeing respectfully around his personal space, Nagisa’s assault catches him off guard, so much that Haru drapes an arm over his shoulders out of pure surprise.

Rei’s there too! Haru hadn’t seen him, but there’s another pair of arms hugging him opposite of Nagisa’s. He’s laughing into Haru’s shoulder. “It was beautiful, Haruka-senpai! You were beautiful.” _He looks wrong without his glasses_ , Haru thinks wildly, blinking around at the pair of them. Had they seen him race? Had they been there the whole time? Why hadn’t they said they were coming to watch?

“Don’t call me 'senpai,'” Haru says faintly. “Where are your glasses?”

Nagisa and Rei dutifully ignore him. “Did you hear us cheering for you?”

“Makoto-san made a sign, did you see?” Rei waved a rolled up sheet of poster paper demonstratively. Haru shakes his head, willing himself not to shut down. He raises his head, and for the first time in a long time, he looks Makoto in the eye.

Makoto looks the same, at first. But as Rei and Nagisa shed themselves from him, Haru can spy little differences. Makoto’s a little taller than he remembers, finally evening out at a comfortably large Extremely Tall But Still Shorter Than Yamazuki. His hair has lost that telltale chlorine tinge, and Haru thinks with some scorn that Makoto probably hasn’t touched a pool since he left for university.

“Hi, Haruka,” Makoto greets him timidly. Nagisa grips Rei’s sleeve tightly, watching.

His mind whirls in an unbidden tornado of thoughts and emotions, he swallows hard to give himself a few seconds to think. After a moment, he knows exactly what to say. “If you call me ‘Haruka’,” he begins, and swallows again. “I won’t talk to you anymore.”

Makoto smiles, helpless and giddy. “Then, I’ll definitely go with ‘Haru’.”

After so long, it’s like meeting all over again, and Haru can’t stop the blush of heat in his chest anymore today than he could back then. He steps forward. Then takes another. And another, until he stumbles into Makoto’s arms, letting himself sag against the familiar warmth. Maybe the word _‘familiar’_ is wrong, but he’s surrounded by Makoto, and Nagisa and Rei again. He doesn’t care for all that time separating them

Makoto squeezes him gently, and helps him take his own weight again. Haru’s knees wobble of their own accord. He is going to swim in the Olympics, but the fact that his friends are here to stand by him is what makes him shudder out a shaky exhale. He closes his eyes, and feels Makoto looking concernedly at him, saying Are you okay? in a language Haru had thought he’d forgotten.

“Mnh,” Haru replies unintelligibly.

Footsteps clatter behind him, and Haru feels the combined might of Nagisa and Rei latch onto him from behind. The four of them smile at one another, tentative and shy. The moment Haru catches Makoto’s eye again, Makoto looks away first, and buries his face into Rei’s jacket. Haru’s distracted away from asking Makoto if he’s okay by a timely burst of noise from Nagisa.

“Wah! We’re going to be late! Our reservations are at six!”

“Reservations,” Haru repeats.

“Nonsense, Nagisa-chan,” Rei replies. He still pushes at the corners of his eyes like he’s re-adjusting his glasses. “I’ve calculated the route from here to the restaurant, it’ll take us precisely twenty-two minutes to get from here to there and it’s now-”

“Five forty one!”

Haru is somehow bundled away into the backseat of Rei’s car with Makoto, while Nagisa commandeered the front. When he shoots Makoto a look of mild disbelief, Makoto held out his palms like he couldn’t quite figure how they’d got crammed back here either.

The whole way, Nagisa and Rei bicker about the radio, about traffic, but it’s friendly white noise. Haru keeps sneaking furtive glances at Makoto, but he seems content on watching the scenery pass by through the window. He can’t hope that whatever wordless understanding he shared with Makoto would be instantly repaired, but Haru isn’t the one to usually initiate conversations, especially smalltalk.

But they’ve missed out on so much of each other’s lives. Such a gap needs bridging. And that comes from talking and sharing. Haru frowns slightly, organizing himself.

“Thank you, for the poster,” he says, barely audible under the peppy bubblegum pop blaring from the radio.

Makoto turns in his seat, hands on knees. His knees are drawn up slightly, and the small space makes him seem even bigger than he was standing. “Did you even read what it says, Haru?”

Haru has the grace to look abashed. “No.”

“You’re welcome anyway,” Makoto smiles. It’s a different flavor of smile than last time, a little sad. Haru’s hands ball up in his pockets.

“And thank you for coming today.”

“Of course,” Makoto replies. His smile has shifted, head tilted inquiringly.

“And thank you for helping me set alarms on my phone, and thank you for-”

_“Haru.”_

The front seat has gone ominously quiet. Haru shuts his mouth and examines the carpeting beneath his feet, huffing to himself.

“You don’t have to thank me for every little thing,” Makoto tells him, hands tightening on his knees. “I would have done it anyway.”

Haru thinks he understands, or he’s beginning to, but he only nods.

The restaurant has to be Nagisa’s choice, since it’s a karaoke bar.

“Don’t worry, Rei-chan, we’ll make sure you don’t get tricked by the menu again.”

“Nagisa, that was once when we were in high school. Since then I’ve become accustomed to using the electronic ordering system.”

Makoto holds the door open for them all, tapping Nagisa on the top of the head. “Did you remember to send the address to Rin?” Nagisa sticks out his tongue instead of answering, stalking forward and dripping derision.

“Rin-san declined. He informs me that he’s celebrating in his own way with Sousuke-san and Aii-san,” Rei fills in, even as Nagisa tugs his arm mercilessly forward. So when Nagisa abruptly stops, Rei crashes him into him with a pained hurk!

Nagisa’s free hand flutters wildly, cheeks puffing out in distress. “What?! Aii-chan isn’t coming anymore?” He scowls. “I was going to battle him for the title most competitive singer.” He sighs forlornly.

“Nitori sings?” Haru prods, not sure he believes it.

“Apparently,” Makoto says, sounding sheepish. Nagisa and Rei are hassling the wait staff about their reservation. Rei keeps patting his face, as if he expects his glasses appeared while he wasn’t paying attention. “Rei and Nagisa found his name on the scoreboard in a karaoke bar back in Iwatobi.”

Eventually, a waitress leads the four of them to their private room. They sprawl out on the couch. Rei claims the seat next to the controls and begins fussing immediately. Nagisa is perched happily next to him, feet kicked into Rei’s lap. Haru is squished between Nagisa and pressed slightly against Makoto.

They order drinks. Nagisa convinces them all to try a specialty strawberry drink that entirely too strong and sweet. Rei forces it down, but Makoto seems to actually like it. Haru leaves his on the table, watching the glass vibrate in the wake of the bass unleashed by the sound system.

“Haru-chan! You go first!”

“But Nagisa, I picked out our-”

“It’s Haru-chan’s party, Rei-chan.”

Haru speak-sings through his song, a lively beat about a _splash that makes us free!_ Nagisa and Rei blast their way through a couple duets before bullying Makoto into joining them for a trio. Then a quartet when their influence sucks Haru in like a blackhole. He’s not very fond of singing, but Haru’s skin is prickling with the energy of it all. He hasn’t been this awake for a long time.

“ _Future fish! Wake- wake- wake- wake UP!_ ”

Makoto has to lean down to share his microphone with him, and more than once, Haru catches him watching him which makes both of them falter and miss a few beats before falling in with Rei and Nagisa again.

“ _Yes, future free! Get- get- get- get UP!_ ”

The song ends with Nagisa and Rei collapsing into a pile of breathless laughter, taking up at least half the couch. Haru is glad he didn’t want his potent strawberry potion, because Nagisa’s sandal whips out and knocks the whole thing on its side.

“Whoops!” Nagisa says cheerfully, not moving a millimeter. “Sorry, Haru-chan!”

“Don’t worry.” Makoto rises to his feet, jerking a thumb toward the door. “I’ll go let the waitress know there was a spill.”

“I’ll come too,” Haru says quickly, eager for a break from the thudding music. There’s a hopeful chance he could talk to Makoto without an audience. That’s how their relationship works. Or had worked. Without fanfare or drama. For so long, his steady friendship was the thing that buoyed him from sinking too far.

He trails after Makoto, only paying minimal attention to Makoto’s conversation with their unfortunate waitress. He doesn’t pay much attention to the fact they’re not heading back to their room until the brisk night breeze hits his face. He looks up, brows furrowed.

“I figured you would need some air after all that,” Makoto explains. He goes on teasingly, “You have a lovely tenor, Haru-chan.”

Haru scoffs through his nose.

“Have you thought about joining a choir instead?”

“Shut up.”

Makoto laughs. It’s a precious sound, that almost gets lost in the din of passing cars and faint restaurant music. Haru finds himself leaning unconsciously forward, before settling back on his heels.

“Makoto…” Haru begins slowly. Makoto tucks his hands into his jacket pocket, waiting. Haru tries to remember that conversation from so long ago. “Did you get what you wanted from your future?

As soon as the words leave his lips, Makoto flinches, like his mind had been wandering the same path Haru’s had. He smiles though, an expression worn like a mask. “I’m helping people, Haru. At first, it was really scary, but after a while, I could be brave.” Makoto scratches at his cheek, and this time his smile feels more genuine. “I never expected to end up where I am, especially since fighting fires sounds so dangerous, but I’m happy.”

 _A firefighter?_ That's unexpected. But now that Haru really thinks about it, he could imagine it. Seems like Makoto made something of himself despite the circumstances. Haru looks down at his feet, considering. Then, “We should go back inside.”

“Wait.” Makoto grabs hold of the back of his jacket, tugging with all the strength of a kitten. Haru stops immediately. “What about you, Haru-chan?”

Around them, neon lights blink and cars streak past, and it all blurs into an inconsequential backdrop. “All this time, and you still can’t drop the ‘chan,’” Haru grumbles, turning back to face him. Makoto’s hand drops back to his side, and Haru is seized with the inexplicable urge to catch it between his own.

“Sorry.” A beat. “You are... _happy,_ Haru?” Makoto’s voice is an uneasy mix of earnest and pride. There’s something else that Haru can’t quite identify. “You’ve accomplished so much. I’d spend days wondering what you were up to at university.” A low chuckle. “Turns out your biggest problem was wrangling your phone into submission!”

 _Who else would help me_ , Haru doesn’t say. “That’s not true.”

“I was teasing.”

Haru knows that. How does Makoto think that Haru doesn’t know how there’s not a mean bone in Makoto’s being. “I know that,” Haru informs Makoto. And adds, “But it’s still not true.” Haru looks up at Makoto, unwavering. Makoto shifts but politely meets his gaze. “My biggest problem was you.” Makoto looks horrified, snapping their shared look and recoiling like Haru had struck him.

 _“Me-?”_

“Makoto said he wanted everyone to be happy. Makoto wants Haru to go pursue a dream that isn’t his, and he doesn’t want to be there. He wants to stay in Iwatobi, for a local university. That’s how everyone will be happy” Haru recites blandly.

“Haru…” Makoto flounders, then, for reasons Haru can only guess at, bursts into tears. It’s even more disconcerting than seeing Rin howl in anguish, on principle that Makoto doesn’t try to hide it. It’s naked pain, and Haru caused it.

This time, Haru envelopes Makoto in hug, reaching on tiptoes to wrap his arms around his neck. He guides Makoto’s face into his shoulder, lets his hands roam over the wide planes of Makoto’s back, trying to gentle the wracking sobs to a more manageable volume.

“I didn’t m-mean I didn’t want to see you anymore, Haru-chan,” Makoto gasps. Haru can feel the wetness staining the front of his shirt, but he doesn’t mind. “How could you _think-”_ he accuses hoarsely, raising his head to stare at Haru. He stops in mid-sentence, lips parted. “Oh.” He reaches for Haru’s face, thumbing away tears leaking from his eyes. He sounds broken-hearted, but least he's stopped crying. _“Haru.”_

They’re so close, entirely twined up in one another, Haru can feel Makoto’s breath on his face. Unshed tears gleam in Makoto’s eyes and, judging from the shadow cast over Makoto’s expression, Haru’s no better. It’s too much to handle, the eternity without Makoto and now, suddenly, he’s here, and Haru can touch him and lean their foreheads together, shutting his eyes.

“Haru-” Makoto whispers, like he’s scared to frighten off this moment. Haru is too. His hands are still cradling Makoto close, so he does the next best thing. He tilts his head and presses their lips together, long enough to feel Makoto quiet in his arms. Then they settle back against each other, Haru nuzzling beneath Makoto’s jaw.

They stay like that for a long time.

Makoto’s started swaying back and forth, tipping his face to nose at Haru’s hair, stirring his bangs with a long sigh of contentment. Haru can feel his pulse, he can feel every inch of Makoto’s warmth radiating through his jacket, protecting him from the nighttime chill. His own pulse his thrumming like a nervous bird, but he’s oddly okay with it. Both warmth and relief are unspooling from him and tangling him up with Makoto, so it’s fine. He’s happy to stay here, standing on the sidewalk, rocking with whatever beat’s in Makoto’s head.

“I’m sorry, Haru-chan.”

“Yeah,” Haru whispers into his neck, pulling him closer, so Makoto fidgets with discomfort. Haru considers keeping him there, then relents. Makoto wheezes gratefully, his fingers brushing along the back of Haru’s neck. Haru feels in danger of dozing like this, standing and locked so securely in Makoto’s arms.

Tentatively, breaks the hazy stupor of warm silence. “Are we-…?”

Haru supposes he deserves the tables to be turned on him, but he didn’t expect Makoto to steal his move so soon. He doesn’t mind the hands linked behind the small of his back, or the warm press of Makoto’s mouth. He barely starts to kiss Makoto back, his first few attempts missing Makoto’s mouth entirely, too sloppy and loose to aim properly. But kissing Makoto’s cheek, kissing away those dried tears, is almost as thrilling as kissing his mouth.

“C’mere, Haru-chan,” Makoto tries to demonstrate how to kiss Haru properly, but he keep laughing, and things are a wonderful mess. In the end, they give up trying to make their mouths stop smiling, and they touch foreheads again, smiling, exhausted and so happy, drinking each other in.

The door of the restaurant swings open, and a blast of music startles them from their study of one another. The simultaneously swivel their heads to stare at the source of the disturbance.

“Mako-chan, Haru-chan, we-”

Nagisa stops dead, Rei bumping into the backs of his legs with a noise of indignation. Haru is fairly certain his expression is murderous, but he can’t be sure.

“We’ll let you two figure out your own sleeping arrangements!” Nagisa finishes loftily, peering at them keenly. “There’ll be no canoodling at our apartment.”

“Nagisa!”

“Aside from us, of course, Rei-chan.”

Makoto unwinds himself from Haru, leaving him cold and slightly disgruntled. He feels only slightly mollified when Makoto’s fingers dovetail with his. Makoto looks sideways, and meets Haru’s gaze. He’s smiling and Haru feels himself smile in reply. “We’ll figure it out,” Makoto says confidently, tightening his fingers.

They say their goodbyes, Nagisa growing more punch drunk due to the late hour and full belly. When they hug for one last time, Haru trapped between Nagisa and Rei and surrounded by Makoto, Nagisa is sniffling tearfully. Haru has had quite enough of crying for one night, and tells Nagisa so.

“Why do you think I’m crying, Haru-chan?” Nagisa asks incredulously. Then he tips his head up to favor Makoto with a long look. “Both of you need to stop making the other cry, understood?”

Makoto laughs and promises he will, while Haru nods. Rei promises to send Makoto a few books he found helpful on the topic of dating, and it sounds very dull. Haru is unable to go more than a few minutes without glancing at Makoto and accidentally meeting Makoto’s eye, only to have a sudden desire to stare at the ground. It makes holding a conversation impossible.

Rei and Nagisa are blessedly merciful, letting them go without after too long, waving as they depart for the parking garage. They must know what it’s like to be so stupidly fond of someone.

When they finally start walking in the direction of Haru’s hotel, Haru has to bend his elbow to properly keep his fingers twined with Makoto’s. It makes it easier to, on occasional, reach up and plant a quick kiss beneath Makoto’s jaw, then quickly pretend nothing happened when Makoto looks around. He feels awake, and warmed from the inside out, so unbelievably happy he doesn’t see an end to it. Makoto will catch his smile and his will grow, and the two walk until they’re too tired to take another step, still caught in a dizzying feedback loop of bright hot joy.

They hail a cab and spend the rest of the night learning each other all over again.

**Author's Note:**

> So funfact! I started this fic last week right after I watched ep 10, at around 10PM. I had no idea would morph into the behemoth it was today. But it certainly was a ride, lemme tell you. I'm ready for this all to be thoroughly debunked by tomorrow. Ah well. I had fun, and I cranked out this pos in a week.


End file.
